


Heads, Tails

by dalekanim (tenorth)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 06:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenorth/pseuds/dalekanim
Summary: Connor loses his quarter and chooses an unmapped clearing near CyberLife tower to do some thinking. He’s interrupted by none other than Gavin Reed, who really does not like Elijah Kamski.





	Heads, Tails

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redd000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redd000/gifts).



> For Redd000, for the New ERA Discord server's winter gift exchange! I hope you like it.
> 
> Un-beta’ed, and proofread after pulling an all-nighter, so… please forgive any little mistakes. I’ll find them and edit the corrections in eventually, but only after some good sleep.
> 
> Set shortly after the end of the game - say, a week or two.

 Heads.

Tails.

Heads.

Tails.

“What in hell are you doing up here, tin can?”

Connor turns, the intangible visualization of his coin freezing mid-flip as dialogue options blossom into view against the snow-covered trees. Greetings, he decides. “Hello, Detective Reed.”

Reed pulls his lips back in a snarl. “I asked what you were doing up here.”

Connor doesn’t move but to raise one eyebrow. “You did.”

Reed doesn’t seem to appreciate his reply, and hastily shuffles in his pockets for a cigarette. “Answer me, jackass,” he snaps.

Connor debates for a moment the benefit of answering Reed’s question versus ignoring him. He decides to wait a moment, then another; then just as Reed’s eyes flash and he turns, mouth open to demand again, Connor offers an innocent smile and states vaguely, “I am up here to think.”

Clearly Reed does not like that answer either, because his jaw works furiously for a moment and he spits. “Go do your ‘thinking’” - Reed makes air quotes as he says the word - “somewhere else, robot.”

“I see no reason we cannot share this space,” Connor says mildly. “It’s the only elevated clearing for several miles.”

“I’m telling you, go somewhere else.” Reed takes a long drag on his cigarette, holding his breath for a moment in a manner Connor is sure must burn before exhaling.

Connor’s fingers automatically go to his pocket, fingertips running along the seams as if to make sure, for the nineteenth time, the quarter isn’t in there. He takes a breath. He imagines the coin, somersaulting through the air. Heads, tails, heads, tails. “I would prefer not to. I was here before you, Detective.”

Reed’s expression is nothing short of shocked, which cycles almost instantly to fury. “Excuse me?” he snarls. Connor holds his hands up in a picture of nonchalance, but says nothing, so Reed stalks past him to glare out at the sprawling CyberLife tower campus.

Reed seems content to ignore him, so Connor waits. Five minutes and forty-seven seconds later, as Reed is pulling out a second cigarette, Connor states neutrally, “Smoking is not good for your health, Detective.”

Reed spins around, nearly dropping the cigarette. “You’re still here?” he hisses.

Connor narrows his eyes, placing his fingertips together. “I never stated I was leaving,” he replies stiffly.

Reed grits his teeth, then jabs at Connor with the cigarette. “Get. Out.”

Connor pictures the coin again, the way the light would play off the shiny surface as it flips in the air. Heads. Tails. Heads. Tails. “I would prefer not to.”

Reed steps forward as if he intends to shove Connor back, but appears to change his mind at the last moment. “I thought I gave you an order, tin can.” His voice falls into a pattern Connor would tag as ‘dangerous.’

 _There’ll be people who try to act like you aren’t a person, but you are_. Hank’s words echo in Connor’s mind alongside the imaginary ping! of his equally imaginary visualized coin. “You are the one who intruded on me, Detective.”

If looks could kill, Connor would already be floating up out of his android body; but Connor only blinks and stares right into Reed’s furious eyes. Neither moves, as if held in some sort of standoff, Connor with a placidly neutral expression and Reed actually _chewing_ on the cigarette. Finally, he throws his hands up, eyes watering from the cold. “Fine. FINE! Stand there like a damn creep!” he snarled. “As if there weren’t enough of them around here anyway!”

Connor tilts his head in confusion, but Reed has already turned away, spitting out the chewed-up cigarette only to light yet another. Connor reiterates automatically: “Smoking is bad for your health.”

Reed’s only answer is to hold up his middle finger.

Connor waits four minutes exactly before speaking. “May I ask what _you_ are doing up here, Detective Reed?”

“Why d’you care,” Reed mutters.

“This is not a frequented clearing.”

Reed snorts. “And you know that _how?"_

Connor takes a few steps forward, snow crunching under his shoes. “It is not on any maps of the CyberLife premises, nor are there clear trails leading to the area.” No reaction from Reed; Connor flicks his eyes to the back of Reed’s head, then back out over the CyberLife campus. “I also saw you exit the building approximately thirteen minutes ago. The walk to this clearing, by my estimates, takes around eleven minutes, and you spent two minutes searching in your vehicle for what I assume was your cigarettes.” Connor taps his fingertips together idly. “You already knew the exact location of this clearing.”

Reed doesn’t move except to hunch his shoulders against the cold. “ _Phck’in_ ' android,” he mutters under his breath. “If you’re gonna stand there, you might as well shut the fuck up,” he states louder.

Connor takes a few steps forward, bringing him to stand next to Reed, albeit several steps to the side. The light reflects differently closer to the dropoff that leads to the CyberLife parking lot, so Connor adjusts his visualization of the coin, flipping endlessly in the air. Heads. Tails. “Are you going to answer my initial question?” Connor finally asks.

Reed snorts. “ _No_. Are you going to answer mine?”

Connor presses his lips together and doesn’t reply.

“ _Mmhmm_. That’s what I thought. Damn plastic toy.”

Irritably, Connor flicks his eyes sideways to catch sight of Reed gnawing on his cigarette again, the filter looking increasingly ragged, as if the paper is about to split. “I fail to see why you are on CyberLife premises at all, Detective.”

Reed grunts. “The whole company’s frozen right now.”

Connor raises an eyebrow, nonplussed. “I fail to see the relevance.”

Reed huffs, and his breath appears as a series of blurry clouds in the air. “They called us in on the building. Not supposed to have private security in there right now, so they need cops on watch to make sure nobody tries to mess with anything, or steal shit, I guess.”

Connor stiffens. “Steal _androids?"_

A roll of his eyes and Reed has already turned away. “No, you idiot. CyberLife actually has _regular_ computer systems and shit in there.”

Connor hides a scowl, also turning back to survey the campus. “And you have chosen to spend your time in a clearing ten minutes’ walk away from the nearest door to the building you are supposed to be guarding.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question - just another statement said in neutral tones.

“Fuck off.”

Connor links his hands behind his back and stands there silently.

Another minute passes, and Reed pulls out yet another cigarette. “What the hell are _you_ doing here, plastic?” he asks, flicking his lighter.

“Retrieving an item,” he replies evasively. “Detective Reed, are you all right? That is your fourth cigarette in a row. I would normally conclude that means you are stressed - ”

“It’s none of your business, okay?” Reed snaps. “Like you said, the building’s down _there_. Unless this ‘item’ happens to be buried under the snow up here,” he said sarcastically.

“I… would prefer not to enter at this time.” His hand automatically goes to his pocket, tracing the seams for the twentieth time. “I am in no hurry.”

Reed pauses, then squints at him. “You plastics are so _weird_ ,” he grumbles finally, tucking his own hands in his pockets. “Hey, how come it looks like you’re breathing?” Reed asks suddenly.

Connor blinks, surprised. “What?”

“You know.” He exhales, waving a hand at the smoke.

Connor merely raises an eyebrow, thoroughly confused. “I am able to circulate air for cooling, as well as imitate breathing to appear more lifelike.” _Bad phrasing_ . “More… _human-like_ , anyhow,” he amends quietly.

“Yeah, but it actually looks like it’s _warm_. There’s a cloud.”

“Oh.” Connor experimentally blows a bit of air out; true enough, it’s visible for a quick moment, though not as pronounced as a human’s breath. “It is technically heat exhaust. Of course it’s warm.”

“Huh.”

More silence.

“Detective Reed,” Connor says.

“Mmm.”

“You do not strike me as the type to waver on duty. There is no way you could have known I would be here in the clearing, so you are not up here to keep an eye on me. Is your issue with CyberLife personal, then?”

“ _Phck’ing_ android,” Reed swears. “What _is_ it with you? Can’t a guy have a few cigarettes in peace?”

“There is nobody currently using the bench by the door you exited,” Connor notes.

“Oh, fuck off. Why the hell are you even here? Whatever you need is not gonna be up here.” Reed groans. “Just go in there, grab whatever _file_ or whatever it is you need, and get back to that hobo.”

The sigh Connor gives is small and calculated. “It is not quite that simple, Detective.”

“Why not? Building security’ll let you in. I’m assuming you’ve got a warrant for whatever the _phck_ the DPD wants.”

Connor clears his throat - purely for the sound, of course, but he unexpectedly has found he _likes_ indulging in the little communication quirks of deviancy, like a language all to itself. “I am not here on any DPD errands.”

That gives Reed pause. “Well, I know for sure you aren’t here for a teddy bear from your old room or something.”

“No.”

“Then what? If it’s not part of the case the DPD are building - ”

“It isn’t.”

“You aren’t gonna be allowed to take it.”

“ _It’s mine_.” The words slip out of Connor’s mouth unexpectedly, and Reed gives him a very odd look.

“Tin can, there’s a _lot_ of stuff in there. Dangerous stuff. You don’t get fancy clearance any more just ‘cause you’re a damn _prototype_. Nothing in there belongs to you. Either go with the DPD, or you don’t go in there.”

Connor bites the inside of his cheek, deletes his coin visualization, then traces the seams of his empty pocket for the twenty-first, twenty-second, twenty-third…

“Hey.”

Twenty-fourth, twenty-fifth, twenty - 

“Tin can.”

Twenty-sixth - 

“PLASTIC.”

Connor jumps.

“What, you break or something?”

“No,” Connor says defiantly.

“Zoning out and standing there twitching your fingers is totally normal operation, then?” Reed asks, cigarette wiggling in his mouth.

Connor narrows his eyes.

“Look, if you’re gonna just be all weird about it, I’m gonna radio down and tell them not to let you in,” Reed says, suddenly seeming weary. “Nothing in there is _yours_ , you idiot robot.”

Connor still isn’t used to the automatic clenching of his jaw. Abruptly, he regrets deleting his visualization of the quarter. “If you _must_ know,” he said coldly, “I dropped something of _mine_ on floor sub-49 at 11:10PM, November 11th.”

Reed raises an eyebrow. “That’s, uh, specific.”

Connor links his hands behind his back again, still eyeing Reed icily. “I can give the time down to the nanosecond, if that would help.” Of course the specificity won’t help, but it feels… _nice_ , in a way, to indulge his irritation.

“The hell did you lose that’s so important you’ve got it down to the nanosecond?” Reed mutters.

Connor huffs, but doesn’t bother explaining that the metadata tagged into each memory would mark times far more precisely than nanoseconds. “Why don’t you enlighten me as to the reason you have now spent approximately…” Connor pauses a fraction of a second to do a few quick calculations. “Two thousand and fifty-two seconds taking a smoke break in the middle of an unmapped clearing?”

Reed glances aside at Connor, mouth hanging slightly open. “Well, _now_ you’re just being annoying,” he grumbles. “Like I said, _tin can_. None of your business.” A fifth cigarette is already between his lips, and he raises his lighter.

Connor flashes a hand out to grab the cigarette with blinding speed, his fingers coming within inches of Reed’s stubbled jaw, and Reed lets out an undignified shriek, dropping the cigarette and lighter and leaping back. Connor merely raises one brow innocently, the lighter and cigarette both caught deftly between his fingers.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Reed hisses.

“Please refrain from smoking yet another cigarette, Detective Reed,” the android quips lightly, as if he hadn’t come within inches of flat-out decking the man in the face. “Despite your wishes, I do not think it would be wise to set any world records for contracting lung cancer.”

Reed’s eyes blaze with anger. “Give me my lighter,” he snarled, his fury doubling as Connor instead pockets it. “Damn it, Connor, _give me my fucking lighter!”_

Connor’s LED flashes a quick note of yellow before going back to blue. “I thought my nickname was ‘tin can,’” he comments mildly.

“What, did I accidentally hit your sass switch?” Reed sneers. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

“Smoking is bad for your health.”

Reed’s fingers are twitching. “So is getting _punched in the face!_ Deviants, you’re all such uppity-ass motherfucking _plastics!”_

“I assure you there was no genuine risk of getting punched,” Connor says sweetly. Oh yes, he decides. Indulging in his irritation is fun indeed.

“ _Ugh_ , how do I shut you off,” Reed spits. “What happened to all your _politeness_ and your doormat-ishness?”

“I suppose it’s lying next to one of your discarded cancer sticks,” Connor replies coolly, adjusting his jacket.

“Go get your _belonging_ and get out of here, plastic asshole,” Reed snaps.

“Go back to your post,” Connor retorts.

“What, are you fucking _scared_ or something?” Reed removes the chewed-up cigarette from his mouth, the paper around the filter soggy and dented, and turns to face Connor. “Damn robot.”

“Why are you still up here?” Connor asks bluntly. “You’re wasting time, what with whatever you’re avoiding in there.”

Reed splutters. “ _Avoiding?_ I’m not - I’m not avoiding _anything!”_

“Ah, yes, your stammering leaves you the very picture of honesty,” Connor says flatly.

“ _Piss_ _off!_ I have my reasons!” Reed shouts, chucking the soggy cigarette at Connor. “It is _none of your business!”_

“No? It does seem to be CyberLife’s,” Connor remarks, ignoring Reed’s continued spluttering. “Hm. I wonder what history there’s - ”

Before Connor could finish the sentence, Reed lets out a shout, lunging at Connor and catching him off-guard. Perhaps he’d pushed the man too far? Connor wonders. He stumbles, but manages to remain upright, shoving Reed away harshly.

“Detective Reed, there’s no reason - ”

Reed only lets out another shriek, lunging at Connor again. Connor ducks, the edge of Reed’s jacket hitting his face as the detective flies past.

“Detective, we both know this isn’t a good idea,” Connor mutters. “If the evidence room is any, ahem, _evidence_.”

 _“Fucker,”_ Reed spits venomously. “All of you are such pretentious pieces of _shit_. I don’t know what he put into you shits. Even that fucking _hobo_ hated you!”

WHAM.

Connor pulls the punch almost as soon as he realizes he’s thrown it - he’d probably shatter Reed’s nose and damage his skull at full strength - but even pulled at the last second, his fist still makes very solid contact with Reed’s nose, drawing a scream, and Reed topples backwards, both hands over his face.

The two remain like that for a moment, Reed on the ground, making muffled huffing noises, and Connor, still frozen with one foot forward and one hand still raised.

Reed sits up suddenly, and Connor immediately throws power into his processor, freezing his surroundings and buying him more time to think.

He didn’t intend to hit the man, that much is certain. Deviancy has a funny way of making things like that happen.

Hank _didn’t_ hate him, Connor thinks angrily. He might have disliked androids initially, but Hank had changed. Hank was his  _friend_ , maybe even  _family._  Without anywhere to go, or anywhere to stay, Connor had initially intended to bunk in one of CyberLife’s warehouses; upon finding out, Hank hadn’t even hesitated before offering Connor a place to stay. Connor expected the arrangement to be temporary, and he suspects Hank had originally intended the same, but at this point it seemed an unspoken agreement between the two that Connor _belonged_ there.

Part of him feels guilty for accepting when so many other androids don’t have homes.

Another part of him, though, feels like he just wants to go home to Hank.

Finally, Connor drops everything back to normal speed and shuffles his feet back together. “Detective?”

“Mm.” Reed grunts.

Connor steps forward. “Detective Reed, I do have…” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I do have first-aid knowledge.” His tone is awfully stiff - stiff enough to sound pre-deviant. He doesn’t _think_ he’d hit the man hard enough to break his nose, but he’ll certainly have a nosebleed, at the very least.

“No,” Reed manages thickly, both hands still over his face.

“Detective Reed, if you are hurt, I - I may be able to help.”

“Not hurt.”

“Your continued time on the ground clutching your face does not indicate so.”

Reed’s fingers part. He squints at Connor, tear tracks running from the corners of his eyes. “Don’t need your first-aid, plastic,” he gripes.

“Are you sure?” Connor asks doubtfully. “I very likely damaged your nose.”

Reed finally drops his hands, wrinkling his nose, and not a drop of blood in sight. “Not _damaged_ ,” he clarified. “No, _no -_ I can get up on my own,” he grunts, waving Connor away. “ _Ow_ , that hurt like a motherfucker, though.”

“Are you sure you aren’t hurt - ”

“ _Quit it_ , tin can, Kamski made sure of it,” Reed snapped. “Your hand okay?”

Connor blinks. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Reed rolls his eyes.

“That isn’t a rhetorical question. My hand is made of carbon fibre-reinforced plastics and steel. Your face is not.” Connor narrows his eyes, squinting suspiciously at Reed’s nose. “You should have a nosebleed.”

Reed rolls his eyes again and taps the bridge of his nose, right over the scar. “Nope. Pretty damn dense right there.”

Connor continues eyeing Reed’s nose, then hesitantly offers a hand. Reed glares at it, then pointedly stands up without touching it.

“What do you mean, ‘ _Kamski_ made sure of it’?” Connor asks slowly, but Reed only glares harder.

“You just _punched_ me in the face, tin can, and now you’re asking me questions?” He snorts, then tucks his hands in his pockets and pulls his jacket closer about his shoulders.

Connor’s expression looks rather pinched. “I… apologize,” he says, his tone still rivaling pre-deviance levels of formality.

Reed laughs unexpectedly, the sound of it hollow and drained. Connor stares.

“Detective?”

Reed doesn’t answer, massaging the scar on his nose and staring out over CyberLife’s campus. “Anyone ever tell you that tower looks like a dick?” he asks suddenly.

“Um,” Connor says uncertainly, halfway expecting Reed to lunge at him and try to throw him over the dropoff to the parking lot. “No. I can’t say anyone has ever told me that.”

“It does, though,” Reed says, his tone thoughtful, as if they were discussing an art piece. “Fitting, isn’t it.”

Connor eyes the tower doubtfully. “I don’t see the relevance.”

Reed huffs and waves a hand at the tower if to say _look, right there_ . “Your _creator_ or whatever. He’s a phck’in' dick. His tower looks like a dick. See? Fits.”

Connor is silent for a moment. Reed’s crude attitude aside, though, he can’t help but agree; his meeting with Kamski was incredibly awkward and creepy, and Kamski’s behavior gave Connor a new understanding of the word _slimy_. “Despite your ineloquent phrasing,” he murmurs, “Kamski struck me as a pompous ass.”

Clearly that is not what Reed expects him to say; the detective stares at him. “ _Really?”_

Connor merely kept gazing out at the harshly-lit tower. “Well… yes. Despite that I only talked to him for a total of ten minutes, I found the man quite unnerving and a little power-crazy.”

Reed continued to stare. “I guess I thought all you androids would regard him as a… a deity or something. Creator and all.”

“No, that seems to be reserved for this rA9,” Connor muses. “We still haven’t discovered what or who that is.”

Reed snorts, his hand automatically going to his pocket. “Ah, damn. Are you going to give me my lighter back?”

“You speak as if you know Kamski,” Connor states curiously, running his finger along the seams of his pocket for the twenty-seventh time before pulling Reed’s lighter out. “I’m curious to know why that is.” He holds the lighter up, but doesn’t hand it over, waggling it in Reed’s view.

Reed only sighs and rolls his eyes. “Not much of a story there, tin can,” he mutters. “The dude is a creep.”

“I’m also curious as to what relevance that has to the bridge of your nose.”

Reed turns his head and looks at Connor suspiciously, but slouches his shoulders again after a moment or two. “It’s a short story that’s none of your business.”

Connor shakes his head, still holding the lighter up. “Personal in nature, I presume.”

“Piss off.” The words have no venom in them.

“For the record, Detective, I have no interest in using this information against you.” Connor sighs, mimicking Reed’s more relaxed posture. “I am… curious. I did not know you had any connection to Kamski.”

“It’s not much of a connection.”

Connor inclines his head as a gesture to continue, but Reed stays silent for a long few minutes, long enough that Connor is convinced he’s decided not to say anything at all. Connor is about to open his mouth when Reed finally speaks.

“August, about six years ago,” he says quietly. “I was with an old partner, investigating some squatters. Supposed to be an easy night. Stuck my head into a closet and some wacko shoots the front of my face off with an old rusty pistol.” He rubs his nose. “I wake up in the hospital and there’s this weird guy with a man-bun sitting in one of the chairs, just… _watching_ me.” He laughs hollowly. “Introduces himself as _Elijah Kamski_. This was back when he was still the big shot CEO, so I’m sitting there wondering what the hell sort of…  _hell_ I’ve died and managed to land in.”

“That must have been very strange,” Connor agrees. Reed’s eyes flick to the lighter still in Connor’s hand, but he doesn’t mention the lighter again.

“Anyway, he does this _oh, sorry,_  then backtracks and introduces himself as the _other son of Marion_.”

Connor frowns. “Other son?”

“Marion is my father.”

“Kamski is your brother.”

“ _Half-_ brother,” Reed corrects harshly. “Half-brother. I never really even knew my father, either. Just his name and a handful of disappointment.” He sighs heavily. “I wish there was something to sit on in this clearing, y’know,” he mutters. “Anyway, apparently the creepazoid had been ‘keeping an eye on me’ or something. Offered to pull some strings at the hospital.” Reed taps the bridge of his nose. “Most people who have facial reconstruction… it’s not the same. Surgeons are good, but they aren’t sculptors.” He shrugs, lips puckering into a grimace. “So Creep-ski offers me a bioplastic rendering of my face. He even paid for it.” He laughs bitterly, pinching the scarred skin. “When it was done, I told him if he ever showed his face around me again, I’d break _his_ face.” Reed snorts. “Wasn’t the last time I ever saw him, but I wish it was. Signed myself out of the hospital, waited long enough for the incisions to start to heal, and took the stitches out in my bathroom. Hence the nice scar. Otherwise, shit would’ve healed up almost identical.”

Connor nods; if one has enough money nowadays, scarring is pretty unlikely. “Detective, might I ask… Why didn’t you let the doctors handle the stitches?”

“You’re just chock-full of questions, aren’t you,” Reed grumbles. “Do all androids ask this many questions, or is it just you?”

The question draws a small smile from Connor.

“What?”

“You reminded me of something Lieutenant Anderson asked me once.”

“Huh.” Reed draws his hands out of his pockets and blows on his fingers. “It’s getting colder,” he comments. “And… I don’t know. I didn’t want to take any more of that creep’s _charity_ , for one. And two, I’d gotten _shot in the face_. I… I guess I felt like I shouldn’t get away from that without _something_.” He shrugs again. "Felt kind of, I dunno, momentous."

Connor glances at Reed. “You still seem quite hostile toward Kamski.”

“Well, _yeah_. Why shouldn’t I be?” Reed snaps; Connor only looks at him, uncertain, so Reed rolls his eyes. “I mean… I worked all through high school helping my mom pay bills. I worked my ass off to get through the police academy, _still_ helping my mom pay bills. Then I work my ass off as an officer, to pay my mom’s bills _and_ my bills, just trying to make sure I don’t starve. And all this time, I’ve had a half-brother who’s currently the _richest fucking man in the world_ , and the first time I ever even _hear_ from the guy is when I’m half-dead in the hospital, as he swoops in like some bullshit creepy-ass savior.” Reed blows out a breath almost violently, flinging a hand out to point at the tower. “Dick. Even this fucking penis tower just reminds me of _him_.”

“That is… awful, but unsurprising,” Connor comments.

“Yeah. Honestly, I can’t condense all the bullshit down enough to convey how much I hate the guy. That’s just the biggest thing I’ve got.”

Connor leans back on his heels, then wordlessly holds out the lighter. Reed looks between him and the lighter, as if disbelieving, but nods, takes the lighter, and pockets it silently.

Several minutes pass.

“Your turn, plastic,” Reed grunts.

“My turn?” Connor asks, hands behind his back.

“Yeah. I told you why I’m up here. Your turn. Why are you up here?”

Connor bites his lip, slipping a hand in his pocket to run a finger over the seams for the twenty-eighth time. “I dropped something.”

“Yeah, you already said that,” Reed says bluntly, and Connor holds up a finger.

“I’m not done talking,” he says dryly. “Please be patient.” Reed huffs, but doesn’t interrupt, and Connor takes a breath. “When I was trying to help Markus… I wanted to infiltrate the tower for him.”

“That’s where you got your army of deviants from,” Reed acknowledges, and Connor glares.

“I didn’t interrupt you when you were talking,” he says tartly; Reed rolls his eyes once more. “CyberLife sent another version of me, who tried to use Hank as a bargaining chip to make me stop.”

“ _Hank,”_ Reed says, and Connor glares at him again. “Not _Lieutenant Anderson_.”

“If you’re going to keep interrupting, I will take your lighter again,” Connor informs him, and Reed stifles a laugh.

“Don’t punch me in the face this time,” he taunts, then yelps as Connor actually takes a threatening step toward him. “Fine, fine! Keep talking.”

Connor watches him shrewdly, then nods. “Once _Lieutenant Anderson_ was in the clear, the other RK800 and I fought. I won.” He crossed his arms, glaring at the blue CyberLife tower. “A… a quarter of mine fell out of my pocket.”

“A _quarter?”_ Reed asks, then hastily makes a _zip lips, throw away the key_ motion as Connor glowers.

“Yes. It has… sentimental value.” Another swipe through his pocket for the twenty-ninth time. “I’m not sure the elevator will allow me access.”

Reed shrugs. “It should. Or one of us can get you down there. We’re the only ones in the whole building.”

Connor only winces, turning away. “Perhaps.”

Reed squints. “I’m assuming there’s more to it, then?”

“Perhaps,” Connor says again.

“I mean… you won. That other Connor isn’t going to be waiting down there for you.”

“His body will be,” Connor says flatly, and it’s Reed’s turn to wince.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I… I don’t mean to sound like a jerk here, but uh… I know it'll look weird, but it’s not like it’ll hurt you,” Reed says slowly, “right?”

Connor doesn’t answer.

“I mean…” Reed pauses, then both brows go up. “Are you _scared?”_

“I am _not -_ ” Connor starts, but Reed quickly puts up both hands.

“It’s okay if you are. I mean, it’s normal, we’re only human - I mean, shit, uh, bad phrasing. It’s a normal, um… people… thing.”

“I’m ‘people’ now?” Connor asks dryly, and Reed lets out a short bark of laughter.

“Y'know, androids as _products_ reminded me of Creep-ski. Still do. I still wonder if you all are actually sentient or if you’re just a good imitation of it. But that’s the same as the rest of the world right now, right?” Reed rubs his hands together, then tucks them back in his pockets and shivers. “ _Cold._ Okay. Anyway, just sign it with a big ol’ _I don’t know_ , all right, _tin can?”_ Reed finishes, earning a roll of Connor’s eyes.

“I’m not afraid of a body,” Connor clarifies after a moment. “Due to uploading of memories, to me, death was little more than a hindrance.”

“You sayin’ that to tell me, or yourself?” Reed asks, and Connor shakes his head.

“I don’t think you’re catching on to what I am saying,” Connor says curtly.

Reed gestures, his hands still in his pockets, making his jacket flap. “Then lay it out for me.”

“He…" Connor sighs. "He uploaded his memories before he died.” He straightens his tie unnecessarily, avoiding eye contact. “I have his memories of dying. Returning to the scene will likely be… unpleasant.” A moment passes before he adds, “I’d rather not go down there alone. I… I don’t think I can.”

Reed doesn’t bother to hide his staring, his mouth agape. “ _Shit_.”

Connor nods in agreement.

“I… should I say sorry?” Reed asks hesitantly, then shakes his head. “You’re _scared_.”

Connor sighs heavily. “If you _must_ drive that point home,” he says sourly, “then yes.”

“What’s so important about this quarter?” Reed asks curiously. “You said it was sentimental, but I thought you all didn’t develop feelings until after you deviated. All you ever did with it was tricks.”

“I used it for calibrations, primarily, but it also helped me… focus?” He ends the sentence uncertainly; he doesn’t seem quite sure himself.

“Like a good-luck charm?”

“No,” Connor answers. “It made me feel…” Safe? Secure? Connor doesn’t like either word. “Calmer.”

“Oh.” Reed’s eyes flick back to the tower, then back to Connor. “And it has to be that one.”

“I suppose I could develop an attachment to any quarter,” Connor says, though he sounds skeptical. “However, Detective Reed, it is important enough to me to have come all the way here.”

“True.” Reed sighs, then fishes his cigarettes out. “Just one more before I have to go back in,” he says defensively as Connor looks over accusingly. “Besides, all you did was come out here and sit in a clearing.” Reed smiles, flicking the lighter. “How did you find this little clearing, anyway? I didn’t think it was that visible from the parking lot.”

“It isn’t.” Connor sighs, watching as the first few snowflakes begin to dance across his vision. “Kamski.”

“Huh?”

“I know of this place because of Kamski,” Connor clarifies, and Reed grimaces. “What about you?”

“Same,” Reed grunts. “Like I said, the hospital wasn’t the last time I saw the guy. I’m not gettin’ into it now, though.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Connor murmurs, surveying the campus, then turns around, but doesn't move otherwise. “You know, CyberLife is not Kamski.”

“It’s how he made his money, though,” Reed mutters bitterly, and Connor nods.

“That is true. But CyberLife also made me,” he explains. “And Markus. And North, Josh, Simon… all of us.” He shook his head. “Perhaps CyberLife will always bear Kamski’s mark,” he says, “but CyberLife has been involved - and has shaped the lives, for better or worse - of _far_ more people than one simple man. And the current case being compiled by the DPD is very extensive.”

Reed fixes Connor with an odd look, one reminiscent of distrust. “So?”

“So, _Detective_ , are you really going to shirk your duty to the rest of us involved?” Connor taps his fingertips together. “CyberLife’s current case hinges upon you and your colleagues preventing any tampering. The publicity alone surrounding the case put together by the DPD and even national government has enough influence to ruin CyberLife for decades - but only if the case has enough to it. Which is part of your job.”

Reed stares at him.

“You are helping to ruin Elijah Kamski’s touch on this world by doing nothing more than your job here,” Connor says, “to clarify my point.”

Reed sucks a breath in through the cigarette, the tip flaring bright orange, then he lowers the cigarette and blows smoke out over the silhouette of CyberLife’s tower. “I guess you could think of it like that. Yeah.”

Connor nods decisively, but doesn’t say another word while Reed finishes his cigarette, then the man turns around as well and nods. “Come on. Let’s start walking.”

“Very well,” Connor says in clipped tones; his LED flashes a brief yellow while he calls a taxi before he follows the detective into the sparse woods.

“Hey, you know I’m gonna have to follow you in there, right?” Reed calls to him after a minute or two of walking, pushing an ice-covered branch out of the way.

“Follow me?” Connor asks blankly, ducking as Reed releases the branch. “I have better reflexes than a human,” he adds, and Reed chuckles mischievously.

“Yeah, yeah, tin can. Anyway, yeah, I gotta follow you when you go to get this quarter of yours,” he says, “to make sure you - uh - don’t touch anything, you know? No exceptions even for you, fancy prototype.”

Connor doesn’t point out that any of the DPD officers could do this, rather than Reed specifically. He also doesn’t tell Reed to mind his own business. He also doesn’t tell Reed not to bother, because he’d already called a taxi; he merely cancels the taxi, and nods, a relieved expression flitting across his features for a split second. “Lead the way, then, Detective Reed.”


End file.
